


The One In Which They Gangbang Tsukasa

by vaguesalvation



Category: D'espairsRay, Jrock
Genre: Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguesalvation/pseuds/vaguesalvation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tsukasa loves his band.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One In Which They Gangbang Tsukasa

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains graphic descriptions of group sex and recreational drug use.

Tsukasa doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much fucking snow in March in his life. It’s everywhere, piled high on the sides of the streets, packed up under the tire guards and it’s still coming down strong. He sits with Hizumi on the couch in the bus lounge, doodling leaves and other various nature-like objects he hasn’t seen in what seems like years. It hasn’t stopped snowing since they arrived in Ohio, and he thinks if it keeps going, the rest of the tour will be cancelled due to the untimely demise of nearly half the performers. Drowning in sticky, wet snow seems a bit dramatic and maybe a little impossible, but he’s feeling confined and deprived, so he figures he’s not responsible for the disturbing images that come readily to his mind.

Karyu is fucking ecstatic.

“How long are we gonna be trapped here?” Zero asks, slipping through the door from the bunks and leaning against the small counter that had been designated the “place where all electronics will stay so that we know Tatsurou hasn’t stolen them”. Zero looks like he hasn’t slept in days, hair tousled from endless hours of running his long, calloused fingers through it, lids drooping, whole body slack and slumping.

The sacrifices of being the responsible one in the band, Tsukasa supposes.

“Even after we get the bus working again, it’ll take another three hours to coax Karyu back inside.” Hizumi says, and as if he heard the vocalist through the very windows, the tall, lanky guitarist cackles like a mad scientist and throws yet another snowball at the bus.

If it weren’t for the half-inch thick glass between them, Tsukasa would be soaked clear through to his skin for how perfect Karyu’s aim seems to have suddenly become.

What happened to the awkward, stumbling, spazzy guitarist they have all come to know and love? Well, maybe not love so much as tolerate.

Karyu tries to kick at the ground--failing miserably and nearly slipping onto his ass--and Tsukasa thinks aloud, “Oh, there he is.”

“What?” He looks up to find Hizumi staring at him, confused, and with good reason, he guesses, seeing as he’s talking to himself.

“Nothing.” He replies easily, and the vocalist shrugs the subject off like it’s a mildly normal occurrence, turning back to his laptop, fingers working quickly over the keys. He’s been working on the same lyrics since they got to America. Tsukasa has half a mind to tell him to forget it, that the words will come when they come.

But Tsukasa also values his reproductive organs very much.

That and if he uses “come” too much in the same sentence someone will undoubtedly turn the whole conversation into a discussion about the amateur gay porn they all ended up watching in Bullet’s bus a few nights ago.

The thought makes him shudder.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when the door to the bus opens and he jumps nearly a foot in the air. A rather large American man is sticking his head in and saying something Tsukasa doesn’t understand, just like he doesn’t understand anything in this country. But Zero is thanking him and a moment later, the bus’s engine revs and he swears to anything holy that he’s going kiss the next person that walks through the door because, finally, they’re moving.

Except, the next person to walk through the door is the bodyguard that has been assigned to them--Alex? Richard?--and he thinks better about his pledge.

“Hey! Asshole!” Hizumi has opened the window and his head is sticking out just enough for him to yell at Karyu--who is still laughing maniacally and attempting to roll a snowball as big as his fucking head. “Get in here, we’re taking off.”

Karyu does some marginally difficult hand gestures that Tsukasa is certain he doesn’t want to know the meaning of, and is yelling in English. It sucks really hard being only one in the band that hasn’t been able to pick up on the language easily. But he figures everyone has his weaknesses.

“Fine, stay and freeze your skinny ass off! Not like we can’t replace you. There are plenty of guitarists in the world that would die to be in your place. Maybe we can find someone that can actually play!”

The thing about Hizumi is that he never pulls punches, especially when he’s frustrated or annoyed.

The comment has the desired effect, however, if only because Karyu has to come defend his position. He practically stomps up the stairs and into the lounge. His face is red from the cold and his hands are shaking just the tiniest bit. Otherwise, he seems the poster boy for poise and confidence, and the glare he’s throwing Hizumi is so perfect his eyes are almost glowing. Fucking glowing.

And, yeah, maybe he’s a little bit gorgeous when he’s angry, but Tsukasa isn’t admitting anything verbally.

“Wanna say that again, shortfuck?” Karyu has recently taken a liking to making up his own strung-together curses, using them as insults--or endearments, or whatever.

“What? That we can replace you? Or that you’re the worst guitarist I’ve had the displeasure of meeting in my entire life?”

Tsukasa glances at Zero worriedly. Karyu and Hizumi fights are the worst, simply because the two of them contradict each other in every possible way imaginable. Sometimes, he wonders how they’ve been able to stay together for so long for the fact that the two fight so often he can count on one hand the hours between which they are not screaming at each other.

Zero looks both annoyed and like he may step between the two at any second if necessary.

Sometimes, Tsukasa loves Zero. If only because the bassist always takes things into his own hands and leaves the rest of them virtually independent of all responsibility.

But just as Zero is about to push himself away from the counter, Karyu pounces on Hizumi and there’s nothing he can do beside stare in mild disbelief as the awkward guitarist wrestling their vocalist to the floor.

Tsukasa, having been Hizumi’s best friend for an upwards of 15 years is already on his feet, ready to grab Karyu by the arms and force him off the smaller man, before he hears it. It’s a sound he’s heard many times, one with which he is intimately familiar, but seems so foreign now it’s startling.

Hizumi’s laughing.

He watches Karyu’s long fingers working over Hizumi’s sides relentlessly, yelling, “Give up yet!?”

And Tsukasa is torn between wanting to run, and forcing himself in between them. Because, really, it’s not fair that only fifty percent of the band gets to have a tickle fest--which is sure to turn into something resembling cuddling soon enough--on the floor. Of course, he isn’t quite sure Zero would want to join in at all, and that thought has him rooted to his spot.

Just. Fucking. Staring.

But then Hizumi gasps softly, and the sound seems very out of place, seems… Surprised? Wanton?

And now Tsukasa really wants to be on the floor with them, because he should really be closer than he is, because he should really be the one making that sound.

Wow, that’s a new development.

 

-o-

 

It’s nearly a week and a half later that he brings it up. He and Zero are sitting in the hotel room he’s sharing with Hizumi, the bassist looking through the lyrics Hizumi has finally managed to spit out, though he looks less than impressed with them. He actually looks almost disgusted and Tsukasa thinks that maybe it’s a good time for him to break Zero out of his forced lyrical funk. So he tosses his sketchbook onto the bed beside him and all but throws his legs over the side so he’s sitting upright.

“I think they’re fucking.”

“Hmm?” Zero seems, for what it’s worth, like he’s really trying to pay attention to the screen in front of him.

“Hizumi and Karyu,” Tsukasa clarifies, “I think they’re fucking.”

“That’s nice… Wait! What?”

Well, hello, Zero, nice to know you’re finally getting with the fucking program.

He just nods, frantically; probably looks like one of those ridiculous bobble-head figures Karyu keeps on the dashboard of his car. Zero’s brows do this thing where both of them furrow and one raises simultaneously and it looks so effortless, but would look really stupid on anyone else.

“What makes you say that?” The bassist asks after a moment, closing Hizumi’s laptop and focusing--a lot easier, he notes--on him.

“I don’t know,” he replies, “they just seem really… comfortable… you know?”

“You’ve been ‘really comfortable’ with Hizumi since I met you. Does that mean you guys are fucking?”

“Well… no.”

He isn’t sure how the other man does it, but Zero has always been able to make him feel young and naïve. He figures it has something to do with the bassist’s ability to read everyone like an open-fucking-book, but. Well, that doesn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“Still,” he says, trying to salvage any point he might have had before this conversation started and he ended up looking like an idiot, “I think they’re doing… stuff.”

“And would that matter?” Zero counters, head nodding toward him knowingly, daring him to argue. “That they’re doing… stuff.”

“Well… no.” he says again, and, yeah, he really wants to go die now.

Zero’s eyes narrow.

“Are you jealous?”

“What?” he sputters. “No. What makes you say that?”

“Why would you bring it up if you didn’t have a point? You never talk unless you have a point.”

He has a point.

“I don’t know,” he inhales deeply, expelling the air in a rush of breath, “I just wanted to know what you thought, you know, about them.”

“About them fucking.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I hadn’t thought about it at all until you said something.”

Tsukasa feels his own eyebrow rise.

“And?”

“And I don’t think Hizumi would go near Karyu’s cock with a ten-foot pole. We have no idea where it’s been.”

He laughs easily at that. It’s been a sort of running joke between the four of them that Karyu is undeniably the slut of the band. He’s never fought the accusation, actually wears the title with pride most of the time.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course, I’m right.” Zero says, a smug smirk spreading across his lips as he stands to shuffle over to Tsukasa’s bed and sit beside him. “I’m always right.”

Tsukasa just laughs again, leaning his head against the ball of the bassist’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Tsuka-chan,” the bassist whispers against his hair, “no one’s gonna take Hizumi from you. Especially not Karyu.”

He nods, his eyes closing because Zero is surprisingly comfortable to lay on, and he’s suddenly really tired.

He absolutely does not think about being jealous.

-o-

The next time it happens, it’s at Tsongas Arena in Boston, winding down from a show that Tsukasa can honestly say is one of the best they’ve had in America. He’s curled up at the end of the couch in their dressing room, still trembling with excited adrenaline. Zero is sitting next to him, one arm thrown over the back of the couch, chugging yet another of the provided water bottles. He watches the muscles in the bassist’s throat work rhythmically. More to give himself something to focus on than because Zero’s neck makes him itch to touch the bassist inappropriately.

He tries very hand not to continue those thoughts.

“You’re a ball of energy, Tsuka,” Zero says finally, looking over in mild concern. “Stop vibrating. You’re making me shake.”

He mumbles a quiet apology, unfolding his legs and setting them down on the floor, fisting his hands on his jeans and willing himself to breathe slowly, his heart to stop racing. He gets like this sometimes, after shows, like he can’t settle down and even hours after their set is done he still feels like he’s onstage, like he has to keep going or he’ll disappoint his band and his fans.

Hizumi says he’s just a nervous person in general.

Karyu chalks it up to unresolved sexual tension.

“Where’s everyone else?” he asks, surprised his voice comes out strong and unwavering. He looks around stupidly. As if the other two members of their band are going to magically appear in one of the corners of the room.

“I think they went back to Underneath’s bus,” Zero replies, the hand he has behind the couch coming to rest on the drummer’s back, “something about beer and cards or porn or… something equally perverse.”

“Hmm.”

He stands.

“I’m just gonna… uhm… yeah.” He makes a vague gesture at the door and Zero stands too, still looking worried. He bristles. He doesn’t need the bassist concerned about him. A concerned Zero is a mothering Zero, and a mothering Zero doesn’t know how not to ask millions of useless questions.

Useless questions that usually get him to admit to things he wasn’t even thinking about to begin with.

Stupid bandleaders and their stupid intuition.

“Alright. I was gonna head over there anyway,” Zero says, moving around Tsukasa to walk out the door. Tsukasa follows instantly.

“You aren’t going to sleep?” He doesn’t hide his surprise. It’s pretty well known that, while seventy-five percent of D’espairsRay likes to party and drink themselves into a stupor after lives, Zero has always been more reserved. The bassist has his own way of coming down from a high that usually consisted of fucking and sleeping, and maybe that didn’t sound so bad to Tsukasa.

Except, he doesn’t think he would find someone he would want to have sex with right now--not that he hasn’t had offers--and sleeping is beyond an impossibility.

“I have to make sure the other two don’t end up passing out and get abducted in a foreign country.” Zero responds, like this could actually happen.

Only, Karyu has made his words truth on more than one occasion. So maybe they do need a babysitter.

He follows Zero out of the venue and across the back parking lot toward the buses. He can hear the music from several yards away, and the inside looks as brightly lit as any hotel lobby--“See, we don’t need a fucking hotel to fucking party,” Satochi yelled a few weeks ago when they had all started gathering in the buses after shows--and he is sure the smell that’s lingering in the air is not cigarette smoke.

They walk into chaos.

Tatsurou is barely short enough to walk through the bus without having to duck, so he looks remarkably odd hunched over the pull-out table in the lounge, standing on the padded bench with his ass in the air. He’s yelling obscenities, pointing at Yukke accusingly, but the others surrounding him seem barely able to keep consciousness for how hard they’re laughing.

“Zero-kun! Tsukasa-kun!”

He turns to see Taka stumbling over to them, his arm wrapped firmly around Masato’s shoulders, pulling the guitarist along beside him. Masato looks like he’s putting up a pretty good fight, but also looks equally worried to let the other man walk on his own.

“Hey, Taka-kun,” Zero says, “have you seen Karyu and Hizumi?”

“Yeah, I think they’re in the back,” Taka smells like pot and alcohol, and Tsukasa suddenly really wants to get high, if only to calm his nerves, which are still making him twitch like he’s a fucking seizure patient.

But Zero’s pushing him past the two and toward the back of the bus. He walks with the bassist’s hand on the small of his back, almost as if it’s guiding him, and he thinks for a moment that maybe it is, maybe Zero is always guiding him.

Shit. Even a contact buzz can turn him into a philosophical teenage girl.

The back of the bus is dark, the bunks cast in shadows, and he would think people were actually sleeping back here if it weren’t for the telltale giggles coming from the corner.

“Did you even know what you were saying?” he hears Hizumi’s voice and follows the sound.

“Of course, I did. I fucking aced English in high school.”

“That’s why everyone in the crowd was laughing at you.”

“They loved it.”

“I’m sure.”

“You loved it.”

More giggling.

“What the hell are you guys doing?”

He and Zero stop in front of the bunk where they find both Karyu and Hizumi stuffed inside. Karyu is laying half on top of the vocalist, a leg swung over Hizumi’s hips.

“We’re making out, wanna join?” is Karyu’s response to Zero’s question.

“Not particularly."

“Aww,” the guitarist whines, sounding, for what it’s worth, even more drunk than Tsukasa had thought he was, “did you hear that, Hizu-chan? Zero doesn’t want to kiss me.”

“Nobody wants to kiss you, loser,” Hizumi says.

“You weren’t saying that last night.” And Karyu is ducking his head to run his tongue up the length of Hizumi’s neck. The vocalist laughs and his hands clench in Karyu’s shirt, though to push the guitarist away or pull him closer, he seems unsure.

Tsukasa just bites the inside of his cheek to keep from reaching out, grabbing the vocalist’s arm and saying to Karyu, “Can I please have my Hizumi back? Go find your own.”

His stomach turns over painfully and the muscles in his legs suddenly feel weak and unsteady. He has to get out of here, has to get away from them.

“I…” he stumbles, searching for the words that wouldn’t raise suspicions, “I’m gonna head back to the bus.”

“We’re already in a bus, babe,” Karyu points out, but the words are a little less teasing than they should be. Instead, it sounds as if Karyu is really worried that Tsukasa isn’t aware that they are, in fact, inside a bus. Karyu needs to stop smoking up so much.

“Right. Uhm… Our bus.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and walks away from the bunk. Zero’s hand tenses against his back for a moment, before it disappears completely and he’s stepping in through the lounge--ignoring Tatsurou’s yell of his name--and out of the bus, into the cold night air. He pulls his hoodie a little tighter around him, crossing his arms over his chest, but he knows his shaking has nothing to do with the temperature.

He meets Daniel a few feet away from his bus, nods a silent greeting to the bodyguard. He hopes the man doesn’t follow him in, as he would rather not deal with an overprotective American man that could probably snap him in half. He punches in the passcode, saying the numbers out loud--“one, three, four, three, five”--because it makes him feel dangerous. Like, if anyone could hear him, they could sneak on the bus after him, brutally rape and murder him in the back and no one would know until Hizumi or Zero or Karyu found him dead on one of their bunks.

His eyes narrow at the thought, chiding himself for his cynicism.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s stripping out of his jeans and crawling into his bunk, ipod in hand and dark smudges of black kohl surrounding his eyes.

He falls asleep to Radiohead.

 

-o-

 

When he wakes up, it’s not because it’s the next morning and his internal alarm has been set to go off at the asscrack of dawn. No, what he wakes up to is much more abrupt and violent than sunshine and the distant sound of an engine.

“Ow, fuck!” he cries, his arms coming up to shield himself from another kick to the ribs. Hizumi just laughs a little and continues to climb over him, fitting himself between Tsukasa and the wall. The bunks are really too small for more than one person, but it only took the vocalist a few hours to figure out how the two of them could fit comfortably. Because Hizumi refuses to go an entire two and a half months without cuddling.

“Hmm, sorry,” the vocalist hums, hand pulling at Tsukasa’s hip to get him to turn onto his side.

Hizumi reaches over his head to flip on his reading light, and he squints when it nearly blinds him.

“Why are you turning the light on?”

“Wanted to see that you were alright.” The words are slurred, but not enough for them to mesh together. It’s not terribly difficult to understand, but Tsukasa admits that may be because he’s had plenty of conversations with Hizumi while the two of them were drunk or stoned. He’s pretty used to it by now.

Hizumi reeks like weed and cigarettes and he unconsciously leans closer.

“Where are Zero and Karyu?” he asks because he’s not sure he really wants to be around the Hizumi right now. The longer he’s awake, the more he remembers of the night before.

“They’re up front watching Nightmare on Elm Street,” is the response, and Hizumi’s hand is trailing up his side to cup his shoulder. “Hey, look at me.”

Tsukasa complies, only because it’s been second nature for him to follow Hizumi’s words since the first day they met. He trusts the vocalist, even if he doesn’t really like Hizumi at the moment.

And Hizumi’s pupils are fucking blown, lips a deep red, hair sticking up in odd directions. And it might just be the hottest thing Tsukasa has ever seen in his whole goddamned life. His lungs fill suddenly with too much air and he almost chokes.

“Are you mad at me about something?”

All he can do is shake his head.

“’Cause you tore out of there pretty fucking quick earlier,” Hizumi says, as if he needs to explain himself, as if Tsukasa doesn’t always know what he’s thinking.

Maybe… he doesn’t always know.

He doesn’t want to think about that possibility, but the more time they spend on this tour the more he’s noticing Hizumi pulling away from him. And it hurts something fierce to think that their relationship is falling apart. He doesn’t usually admit verbally how much Hizumi means to him, but dammit, he’s known the vocalist since before they started middle school, and that’s a long fucking time when put into perspective.

“I…” he starts, has to pause to breathe before continuing, “What… are you doing with Karyu?”

And, yeah, maybe that was a little vague and way too confusing for Hizumi’s drugged-up cerebrum to follow. The vocalist just frowns and cocks his head to the side.

“I mean… you guys just… I don’t know, you seem… closer.”

Hizumi leans back, looking him up and down. The hand on his shoulder is suddenly gone.

“You’re mad at me because Karyu and I are… ‘closer’?”

“No,” he says, reaches out to grab the vocalist’s hand again, squeezing tight, trying to find the right words in his mind, “I’m not mad at you. I just… You’ve been hanging out with him a lot and…”

“Oh my god,” Hizumi cuts him off, “you’re jealous.”

In the older man’s defense, the words come out more amused than irritated. It doesn’t help Tsukasa feel any less annoyed with him though.

“I’m not--”

“You are! You’re jealous of my and Karyu’s friendship!”

He looks away. “Not… necessarily.”

“What?”

“Are you guys… I mean… are you just friends?”

The reaction to those words is almost violent. Hizumi jerks away from him so fast, he isn’t prepared for the cold that rushes in to fill in where the vocalist’s touch was before. He looks up, catches Hizumi’s gaze and nearly flinches. It’s not angry, just… really fucking shocked.

“You think…” the other man says when he seems to finally get his voice back, “We’re not… Karyu and I… We’re not together… like that.

“Oh.” He really wishes he had something more eloquent to say, but, yeah, that’s all he has right now.

“You thought--What made you even think that?” Hizumi asks, and he’s settled down some, his hand moving back to Tsukasa’s waist, scooting closer.

“I don’t know, you guys just… you’re closer. You’ve been hanging out with him. And, Jesus, I thought I’d stopped being overdramatic but. We haven’t really talked lately and I thought…”

“Hey, hey, shh.” And suddenly Hizumi is even closer--too close--wrapping arms around him and pulling him nearly on top of the vocalist. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” he says, letting his head fall onto Hizumi’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat he finds there.

“Well, someone’s gotta take responsibility for you feeling this way.”

He wants to tell the vocalist it’s his own fault. His own fault with his stupid hormones and dumb possessiveness.

Instead, he clings to the older man’s shirt and breathes in until he can smell Hizumi’s cologne beneath the layers of smoke.

-o-

It’s incredibly warm in Albany. Tsukasa takes that as a good sign, he supposes, if only because now he can go outside without instantly being thrown into violent tremors that tend to earn him a few worried glances. He’ll tell people he’s fine, because, really, he is. He just has a low tolerance for subzero temperatures.

He’s lying literally on top of the bus--courtesy of Brandon Saller’s magnificent tutorial of how to climb up the back--with his sketchbook, planning to use the next few hours before their show to soak up some sorely missed UV rays and maybe try to draw something that doesn’t resemble his mind’s version of trees that only grow in east Asia.

Hizumi’s lying next to him, on his back with his limbs sprawled away from his body. He wasn’t surprised earlier to find that he didn’t mind the vocalist following him up here. After nearly three hours of being squashed against each other in Tsukasa’s bunk, talking about everything from that time in high school to their next destination, they had settled with a comfortable silence between them.

It’s normal, and Tsukasa is grateful. He was really starting to get tired of everything throwing him off and fucking with his brain.

“I think I’m addicted.”

The words are vague, cryptic, and catch his attention easily. He looks up from his sketchbook, eyes searching Hizumi’s body for any sign of discomfort. But he finds none, and he assumes the vocalist is just writing out loud. He does that sometimes, just talks, eyes glazed over, seeming almost in a trance.

But when Hizumi’s eyes open and he looks at him pointedly, he knows the other man expects a response to his comment.

“To what?”

Hizumi smiles, and the expression has always been kind of contagious. He feels his own lips curl at the edges.

“To this,” the vocalist closes his eyes again, settles back into his previous position, “touring in a big country, sleeping in a bus or hotel every night, partying, traveling with lots of fucking people… just… this.”

Tsukasa isn’t against socializing, but he never does it with the same enthusiasm as Hizumi. Though, when he thinks about it extensively, he does a lot of things with less enthusiasm than the vocalist.

Still, hearing the words, the tone, the happiness behind them, it makes him smile and shake his head disbelievingly. It feels, suddenly, like they’ve been thrust back into the time before the band, when it was just the two of them and they whispered behind their hands about dreams and futures.

He figures they’ve made it a long way, have reached a lot of those dreams. And watching Hizumi, his friend, accomplish things that were far beyond their comprehension as naïve teenagers, makes him genuinely happy.

“Hey.” He looks up again, and his breath catches when their gazes meet again, black on black.

“Yeah?"

Hizumi pauses, just staring at him, for a moment before speaking again. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

He smiles--can’t help it--and looks away quickly. Hizumi chuckles, most likely at his embarrassment. But if his cheeks are as red as they feel, the vocalist doesn’t comment on it.

“I, uhm…” he says, closing his sketchbook and shifting up onto his knees, “I’m gonna go find food. You want anything?”

Hizumi shakes his head, still watching him. He smiles again, and makes his way back down to the ground.

They left the door open so fresh air could circulate throughout the bus, mainly because Zero said they all smelled pretty rank and it was starting to affect his breathing. They didn’t argue with him. They never argue with him.

As soon as his feet make it up the last step into the lounge, however, he really wishes they had left the door shut.

Maybe if they heard him come in, Karyu and Zero would have had enough time to separate before he caught them, and he would have been saved the surprise of seeing them locked together in an embrace that looks everything but platonic.

He stops, his feet suddenly heavy, and just stares. It’s Zero, he knows; he could pick out the flannel shirt from any number of crowds, but the bassist’s long hair is covered in a black beanie, and his back is to Tsukasa. Karyu, on the other hand, he has a perfect view of. The guitarist’s head is thrown back, pressing into the wall behind him, and his shirt is riding up his long torso where Zero’s hands clutch at the fabric. His neck is littered with bluish-purple marks Tsukasa is certain will not be gone by their show later that night.

He wonders, suddenly--though later he’ll ask himself how he was capable of thinking anything at all--if this is the reason Karyu wears that stupid scarf all the fucking time.

And that’s when his breath catches up to him, coming in a rush that’s almost too forceful for him to wrestle into his lungs.

He doesn’t take the chance of them hearing his gasp before he’s turning around and running back outside.

He refuses to acknowledge the warmth in his cheeks.

And he definitely doesn’t think about what it would feel like to be the one biting into Karyu’s neck.

-o-

It takes all of three hours for Karyu to come find him, sitting in their dressing room backstage, fingers tapping wildly against his knees in anticipation. Not that he’s counting, or anything.

Except that he is.

The guitarist is only half dressed for their show; new, clean tank paired with his old, worn track pants. The scarf is wrapped securely around his neck, but if Tsukasa looks hard enough he can see small purple bruises peeking out from beneath the long length of fabric.

He tries not to look too hard.

“You saw.” The words shouldn’t surprise him, but he can’t help flinching a little when Karyu’s voice floats over to him.

“What?”

“Today, in the bus. I know you saw us.”

“I--I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The guitarist’s eyes narrow. “You better think twice about that acting job.”

“Fuck you,” he counters, shifting a little further away from the other man, “So what if I saw?”

“You tell me.”

“I’m not playing this game with you, Karyu.”

Karyu looks appalled, but he isn’t fooled. “What? I’m not playing at anything.”

“Sure.” He says, moving to stand up from the couch. But the guitarist’s fingers grip his arm tight, pulling him back down.

“Wait--”

“What do you want, Karyu?” He turns to glare at the younger man, surprised that Karyu actually winces a little, but the hand on his arm only tightens, but the shock fades quickly--and later, he’ll ask himself if it was ever really there in the first place.

“I figured this was something we should, I don’t know, talk about.”

His eyes narrow. What could have possibly brought Karyu to a realization like that? Something they should talk about? He’s content trying to forget the whole mess altogether.

“What is there to talk about?” he knows his voice is rising, but he can’t seem to remember how to keep it under control. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, why he’s so angry, so embarrassed. “I saw you, okay? And now I know you and Zero are fucking around. I fail to see how my opinion of that really matters. So, please, tell me what we have to fucking talk about.”

It’s not a rare thing for Tsukasa to throw fits, especially on tour, so Karyu really should be used to the tantrums by now. However, the guitarist’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and it seems to take a minute for the drummer’s words to be completely soaked in.

And the moment Karyu’s calm, knowing smirk spreads across thin lips, Tsukasa wishes the world would open up and swallow him whole.

“It could, you know,” the guitarist leans close to whisper in his ear and he can’t stop the shiver that runs down his spine, “your opinion could matter. You could matter.”

He stiffens, can feel every muscle in his body grow taut, and he’s sure Karyu can feel it too.

“Just leave me alone, Karyu.” He says, and he doesn’t move again until the guitarist’s fingers are slackening, releasing his arm completely.

He plays the show that night staunchy refusing to meet Karyu's eyes over his cymbal.

-o-

Tsukasa was three days shy of sixteen when he lost his virginity to a girl from his physics class named Yoshida Kaori that he’d been seeing off and on for about a month. Hizumi hadn’t wanted to invite her to his birthday party--which was actually not going to be celebrated on the same day as Tsukasa’s that year--because she was loud and annoyingly popular and hung onto Tsukasa like some sort of leech whenever she wasn’t around her posse of whores. But the drummer ended up convincing his friend to invite her. Hizumi had said he didn’t expect her to show up anyway, so whatever.

But Kaori did show up, in a skirt so short even Tsukasa was a little disgusted by it and the alcohol she had convinced her brother to buy before dropping her off at Hizumi’s house. Hizumi’s parents trusted their son a little too much--at least, that’s what Tsukasa’s mom always said--so they had vanished earlier that day, leaving the two boys in charge of “supervising themselves”. Tsukasa thought this was pretty stupid of them but pretty cool at the same time.

There weren’t a lot of people at the party, a few other boys from their class and some of the girls that had been brave enough to wish Hizumi a happy birthday--brave because Hizumi was a self-proclaimed social outcast and talking to him was a sure way to gain enemies. So it was unsurprising that Kaori grew bored with the party quickly. Tsukasa indulged her. He let her take his hand, fitting her fingers between his own and pulling him out of the house and into a car full of her friends.

He didn’t think Hizumi would miss him--the vocalist had been ignoring him in favor of talking culture with the German exchange student whose name Tsukasa hadn’t bothered trying to learn--so he didn’t even really think about what it meant to leave his best friend’s sixteenth birthday party to go hang out with the glassy-eyed, fake personalities the two of them were always mocking at the lunch table and at band practice.

He had met some of Kaori’s friends before, but he was mostly unfamiliar with the people he ended up having little conversation and lots of alcohol with that night. He was okay with that; it wasn’t the first time he’d partied with people he didn’t know and it wouldn’t be the last. He was overall quiet and composed enough to be generally accepted in a crowd--more so than the people he would call his friends--so he couldn’t be bothered with the fact that he was the youngest in the group that night, especially when Kaori turned bloodshot eyes to him and settled in his lap like she belonged there.

Tsukasa’s memories of that night are both choppy and blurred. He remembers coming too quickly and embarrassing himself, he remembers how Kaori was perfect for one full second but no longer than that, he remembers the catcalls and the whistles when he stumbled out of the car and took off down the road in the direction of Hizumi’s house. But the one thing he remembers sharply--too focused--was the look on Hizumi’s face when he showed back up just as everyone was leaving, when the vocalist just stared at him for a second, blank as a fucking page in a new sketchbook, and said, “You left my party to have sex with your girlfriend?”

And he was almost sixteen--Hizumi was sixteen-- so it should have been understandable. Because it was sex, and he had never done it before, and Kaori was offering, and he knew if Hizumi was given the option, the vocalist would chosen sex over him any day.

It would be much later that he came to the realization that that last part was a lie.

He thought, for a second, that that was it, that Hizumi would turn around and slam the door in his face and he would be forced to walk home and explain to his parents why he was completely shit-faced and he would never talk to Hizumi again.

But Hizumi didn’t slam the door in his face, didn’t even turn around. Hizumi just stood on his porch for a few moments with a completely unreadable look on his face--and Tsukasa didn’t remember ever being so scared in his life because he could always read Hizumi--before he rolled his eyes dramatically and told Tsukasa not to throw up in his bed that night.

It doesn’t surprise him anymore. He’s been running to Hizumi since he can remember, because Hizumi fixes things, Hizumi fixes him.

Apparently, it doesn’t surprise Hizumi either.

“What’s wrong with you tonight, man?” the vocalist asks when he follows Tsukasa to their hotel room. He’s supposed to be sharing with Karyu. Zero didn’t question when he asked to switch.

“I just… I’m just tired.”

But the vocalist isn’t impressed with his attempt at lying any more than Karyu was earlier. He tries to keep himself from trembling too noticeably as Hizumi pushes the keycard into the slot and swings the door open. The room is dark until one of them finds the switch on the wall.

“Does this have something to do with Karyu?”

Tsukasa would be surprised. If this were anyone else, he would be surprised.

“What makes you say that?” His voice is steady, but Hizumi can probably see right through it.

“You’ve been avoiding him all day. Did you guys get in a fight or something?”

He stumbles over his own feet trying to get to one of the beds--the one by the window, because windows freak Hizumi out. He sits on the edge and grips his knees in an attempt to get them to stop shaking. It only serves in sending him into a round of full-body convulsions.

“No,” he says, and it isn’t necessarily a lie, “he’s just an annoying little shit and I’d actually like to get some sleep tonight.”

Hizumi’s eyes narrow, and he comes to sit down next to Tsukasa, prying one sweaty hand away from the drummer’s knee and wrapping it in his own. Hizumi’s hands are bigger than Tsukasa’s, and it never ceases to amaze him. But the contact is something of a grounding point for him and he feels his nerves settling a little.

“Shh,” Hizumi whispers softly, “breathe.”

And he does, takes a shaky-sharp breath and holds it in his lungs until they burn, feels his heart slow considerably, and blows it out slowly.

“I’m afraid,” Hizumi says a moment later, and pauses for a long time, almost until Tsukasa is certain he’s not going to continue, before, “that this tour hasn’t been good for you.”

He wants to say, “No, wanting to fuck my best friend and my guitarist is what isn’t good for me”. But he doesn’t.

“I’m fine, ‘zumi,” he says instead. “Just tired.”

Hizumi sighs, resigned.

“Alright,” the vocalist rubs a thumb over the top of his hand, “You want first shower?”

He nods.

The water is hot and turns his body an ugly red, but it feels so good against his aching muscles. He throws on a pair of Hizumi’s track pants because his haven’t made it to the laundry yet and lies on the bed waiting for the vocalist to shower and dress. When Hizumi emerges through the steam and they settle on some low budget movie on the sci-fi channel, they fall asleep.

The other bed in the room is never even touched.

-o-

When he kisses Karyu for the first time--because that’s what it comes down to, he kisses Karyu, not the other way around--they’re in Florida. He doesn’t remember what city, but when he opens his lips to let Karyu’s tongue snake out to touch tentatively at his own, he figures it really doesn’t matter.

Karyu kisses like he’s trying to devour all of Tsukasa, literally trying to suck out his soul from his fucking mouth. And it’s so Karyu that he finds he can’t be surprised by the fact. Long guitarist’s fingers tug at his hair while he lets himself fall back on the bed, lets Karyu kiss down the length of his neck.

They were talking--just talking. He doesn’t know how their conversation led to this, but he has a vague feeling it has something to do with the words “You’re jealous”.

He’s been hearing them so much lately, he supposes there must be some truth behind them.

-o-

Hizumi projects calm even when the inside of his mind is nothing but a jumble of chaotic mess, words and images and concepts swirled together until nothing makes sense to him anymore. Hizumi projects calm, but Tsukasa can see the waves of insanity just behind his face reflected in the vocalist’s eyes. There are times when he stops needing Hizumi simply because he knows Hizumi needs him. And he pushes his own problems away for a moment to take care of his best friend, to be the one to hold instead of being held.

Since coming to America, Hizumi’s eyes have been nothing but clear.

He figures he should be happy, that he should feel reassured. Mostly, he’s just terrified.

Fucking terrified that Hizumi is getting to a point in his life now that he doesn’t need Tsukasa anymore.

Tsukasa thinks he will never stop needing Hizumi.

The back of the bus is quiet, dark. Zero and Karyu went to hang out with Taka and Masato and didn’t come back before they had to start moving again, so he and Hizumi are the only ones on their bus aside from the slew of techs that piled on before they took off. The techs keep to themselves though, sitting at the front of the bus bent over video games and phones and talking about nothing he can understand--probably wouldn’t even be able to understand it if they spoke his language, because techs are techs and they all talk about weird-tech-stuff.

So, it certainly feels like the two of them are alone.

Hizumi is writing when he crawls into the bunk, doesn’t even look up from where his pen is touching paper, just scoots over so that there’s enough room for the both of them. He lies on his back, stares up at the bunk above them and stays perfectly still.

It takes less time than he thought it would for Hizumi to acknowledge him.

“I think I want to do a concept album,” he says and Tsukasa nods because, yeah, he knew that already. Hizumi’s always talking about that damned concept album that sounds good when laid out in a way that only a lyricist could come up with, but things are always harder in practice than in theory.

And for all the theories Hizumi has stored in his head, he knows the importance of carrying out his ideas perfectly. And none of them are perfect.

That’s a widely accepted fact.

“Jealousy.” Hizumi says, and Tsukasa can’t even pretend to be surprised by the word anymore.

He nods again.

“Or maybe revenge.”

“Revenge is overdone,” he says. It’s the truth, and it goes without saying that none of them are particularly vengeful by nature. The idea is shit, and Hizumi knows it, so he doesn’t elaborate.

“Hmm… You’re probably right.”

“I kissed Karyu.”

He doesn’t even mean to say it, which is, okay, kind of a lie seeing as he’s been wanting to say it for the past two days. The point, however, is that he wasn’t expecting it to come out quite so unbidden.

He would like to say that he expects Hizumi to be surprised, maybe even disgusted. In all honesty, he has no fucking clue what to expect.

“When?” The other man’s tone is almost knowing and it scares him for a moment.

“When we were in Florida.”

He doesn’t look over, but he knows Hizumi is watching him now.

“And?”

“And he kissed me back. Which, yeah, I’m not so surprised. It is Karyu, but… I don’t know… I don’t even know what made me do it. We were just talking, and he was being annoying like he always is, and I… just…”

“--kissed him.”

“Yeah.”

“Jealousy.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t know if Hizumi knows about Zero and Karyu. It wouldn’t be all that shocking; Karyu is never good at keeping his mouth shut.

He feels the vocalist sigh more than hears it, and he looks over, watching as Hizumi closes his notebook and stows it away between the mattress and the wall, the pen nestled safely in the spiral binding. The older man looks back at him, eyes narrowed, contemplative.

“Do you love him?”

That’s an easy question, one he’s been circling around for the past few weeks, and kissing Karyu had only proved to him what he figures he already knew.

“No.”

Hizumi nods, accepting the answer almost too easily. But then, he and Hizumi have no reason to lie to each other, have never had a reason.

“I think…” the vocalist stops, seems to rethink his words, and starts over, “I think you should probably find someone else to kiss. I think he and Zero are pretty serious.”

And the two guitarists have been together for, what, five days? How could that be considered serious?

But he nods anyway and lets Hizumi pull him over to curl around him, tucking his head under the vocalist’s chin.

-o-

When Hizumi kisses him, he’s so high the vocalist’s lips on his own feel fuzzy, hazy like his sight when he doesn’t wear his glasses. He would say it’s a nice feeling, but his thoughts are too muffled, too filled with smoke to be anywhere near coherent, let alone straightened out enough to be able to know what anything other than the warmth and the buzzing under his skin feels like.

He makes up for it with enthusiasm. Because he’s not quite fucked-up enough not to realize who is kissing him, what that means. He’s practically in Hizumi’s lap--has been since they started smoking--and his head is twisted at an odd angle, but everything seems so damn perfect in that moment that he’s willing to risk the soreness. He probably won’t feel it until the next morning anyway. He can hear the whistles behind him, Tatsurou yelling, Taka laughing, but the sounds are more a tangible presence, pressing down around his ears. He can feel them in the same foggy way he can feel Hizumi’s hands sliding up under his shirt.

He doesn’t remember what led up to the kiss--really doesn’t fucking care, to be perfectly honest. Someone moans--it’s probably him, but his whole body is vibrating, so he can’t tell for sure. And Hizumi is laughing against his lips, nails digging sharply into his back and, oh, he can feel that.

And he’ll swear later that he doesn’t remember the words that come out of his mouth then, breath hot against the vocalist’s lips, eyes clenched tight to keep the room from spinning, “Fuck me…”

But he’s fully aware what he’s asking, especially when Hizumi stiffens under him and the noise around them grows distant. He pulls back slowly--or quickly, his perception of speed and time are totally fucked all to hell by this point--and opens his eyes to look at the vocalist.

Hizumi looks the same he did that night on their bus, curled into his bunk, talking about fucking Karyu. He imagines part of the shock from that night is coming back, and almost regrets his words, almost wants to play ignorant and laugh it off.

But neither of them are laughing. In fact, Hizumi looks really fucking serious, and it almost scares Tsukasa, because the vocalist’s intensity is, well, intimidating.

“Not here.”

He doesn’t understand at first. The words are vague, even for Hizumi.

Not here? What does that mean? Not in the bus? Not at the venue? Not in Mississippi? Not in America?

What the fucking hell?

His confusion must show on his face because Hizumi is smiling again, hands rubbing circles over his heated skin, pulling him closer, whispering, “We’ve got a hotel night in Texas.”

All he can do is nod, swallow thickly. He’s hungry, and turned on, and he really wants one more hit. But, okay, he can wait until they’re in Texas. He can do that.

He looks around, suddenly very conscious of where they are, who they’re with.

“I don’t think anyone heard you."

He nods again, shifting so that he can sit fully on Hizumi’s lap, curling up his legs and wrapping his arms around his knees. He lays his head on Hizumi’s shoulder and lets himself relax again, lets the fog take over.

But from there he can see Karyu and Zero. The bassist seems perfectly content, his head tipped back against the wall, a cigarette burning between his fingers. Karyu, on the other hand, is staring at him, eyebrow lifted, a tiny smirk playing across his lips.

Tsukasa thinks someone might have heard.

-o-

They’ve been in the bus for over four hours and Tsukasa thinks he’s literally going to die if they don’t stop soon. He ran out of pages in his sketchbook the night before, and he’s itching to hold a pencil in his hand. He’s already half convinced himself to just start drawing on his bunk with sharpie.

Or steal Hizumi’s notebook, which may or may not be worth the repercussions.

Before that thought can completely take over though, the curtain to his bunk is pulled open and the aforementioned man is half-jumping into the space beside him. He tries to scoot over, but makes it all of two inches before Hizumi’s elbow jabs him in the side and he has to stop to yelp, because Hizumi’s bony, and that fucking hurt.

“Sorry.” But the vocalist doesn’t sound at all apologetic, what with the way he’s shaking with the attempt to keep in his laughter.

“Whatever, dickface,” Tsukasa mumbles, shifting onto his side, “we can’t keep doing this. The bunks aren’t big enough.”

Hizumi gasps dramatically. “Are you calling me fat?”

He just rolls his eyes.

“Yes, all forty-eight kilos of you. Fat.”

“Fifty-two kilos, thank you.” Hizumi defends, poking his side and turning back for a moment to close the curtain. “Anyway, what are you sulking about back here?”

He shrugs, “I’m bored.”

That’s really only half-truth. He is bored--beyond any and all comprehensible reason--but that is not the reason he’s been keeping himself locked up in the back of the bus all day. He could just as easily be bored with the rest of them in the lounge, playing video games they have all long-since grown tired of.

But then he would have to be in the same room with them, the same room with Hizumi. And that thought is terrifying enough to convince him to stay holed up in his bunk until they reach Dallas.

He should have counted on Hizumi being a sneaky little fuck and demanding answers.

Beside him, Hizumi’s eyes narrow dangerously. “We’ve been on this damned bus since eight o’clock. We’ve been watching Sundance films for three hours, played both War and Go Fish twice, and Zero has called you out for smoothies five times, all of which you actually turned down. You’re more than just bored.”

He sighs and shakes his head. What was he supposed to say to that, “Hey, ‘zumi, remember when he made out on Mucc’s bus the other night and you told me you were going to fuck me when we got to Dallas? Yeah, well, I’m kind of scared shitless of that actually happening.”?

Yeah, no.

“Just…” he trails off, shaking his head to clear it, “Just drop it, okay, ‘zumi? I’m fine.”

Hizumi sighs heavily, cheeks puffing out comically. “Whatever. You can keep your secrets for now, my friend, but just know I’m on to you.”

“I’m afraid,” he replies, trying to make the words sound sarcastic and not completely true.

“You better be,” Hizumi whispers and before Tsukasa can say anything in response, the vocalist is leaning forward, lips brushing the underside of his jaw.

“Whoa!” He moves quickly, scooting so that his back is pressed against the wall of the bus. “What the hell are you doing?”

Hizumi’s mouth hangs open for a moment in shock, before he seems to come back to himself. “I--I thought… the bus, we… you said… I mean… was I reading all those signs wrong or something? Because I thought it would be, you know, okay to kiss you again. But if not… …what?”

“What?” he repeats, because, seriously, what?

“I’m sorry,” Hizumi says quietly, shaking his head and turning to open the curtains again.

And seriously, Tsukasa doesn’t know who is controlling his body because it cannot be himself, because his hand shoots out and grips the fabric of Hizumi’s t-shirt, keeping the vocalist from leaving.

“Wait,” he says, “I didn’t mean… You just surprised me is all.”

Hizumi’s looks at him incredulously for a moment, before resigning and turning back on his side. “So, does that mean I am allowed?”

“To do what?”

“To kiss you.”

He laughs, but he knows it does nothing to cover up his nervousness, probably just accentuates it. But he moves closer, pressing his forehead against Hizumi’s. “Yeah, I think you’re allowed to do that.”

Hizumi is smiling when he presses his lips to Tsukasa’s. The drummer sighs, leaning more into the heat of Hizumi’s body. He moans when he feels the older man’s hands slide under his shirt, cold fingers against his heated skin, but Hizumi swallows the sound, pulling him closer. The vocalist traces his tongue along his bottom lip before pressing in between them.

It’s not a first kiss--it isn’t even their first kiss--but it sort of feels like it. He’s nervous, practically shaking under Hizumi’s hand, and his heart is beating so fast he swears it’s going to give out on him soon. He feels the blood rushing in his ears, his skin prickling, but he’s so concentrated on how wide to open his mouth, when to let his tongue brush against Hizumi’s, when to pull away for air, to really care.

And it’s when Hizumi bites down on his bottom lip that he notices it. He pulls away, his brow furrowing. He tries to fight back laughter.

“Are you wearing lip gloss?”

“What?” Hizumi asks, his own eyebrows pulling together in the center of his forehead. “No. I put some of Karyu’s chapstick on earlier. Why?”

“You just taste like artificial fruity flavoring.” he explains, and he is laughing now.

“You love it,” Hizumi teases, hand sliding up to press between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, I kind of do.”

He lets his head fall back to the pillow, his forehead against Hizumi’s again, his eyes closed. And everything is so natural, so easy with the vocalist, that he thinks there is no way the tingling in his lips is because the two of them were kissing.

“Tell me something real,” he says, and the words sound more like a plea than he wanted them to.

Hizumi inhales deeply, shifting slightly so that he can fit his arm under Tsukasa’s head, the other wrapping around his waist to pull him closer. He goes willingly, is used to this position--likes it because he feels safe with Hizumi wrapped around him.

He doesn’t expect Hizumi to answer. They don’t lie to each other, so everything the vocalist has ever said to him has been real, true.

He doesn’t expect Hizumi to answer.

“Yami ni is about you.”

Well, so much for everything feeling natural. This is so far out of normalcy, he thinks he’ll probably never see it again.

“What?” he asks. His voice sounds like metal on gravel, his mouth is so dry.

Hizumi nods and his arms tighten around the drummer. Tsukasa’s stomach muscles contract painfully, and he has to swallow back the bile that threatens to come up.

“Don’t run away,” Hizumi whispers, as if he knows what Tsukasa is thinking. Tsukasa’s pretty sure it isn’t the first time. His laughter sounds like sobs.

“I can’t. You’re in my way.”

Hizumi shifts to thread long fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots, throwing a leg over his waist to effectively trap him in his bunk. Lips are hot against Tsukasa’s forehead.

“I know it’s scary, okay? I know. But I think we owe it to each other to be honest.”

“I’ve been nothing but honest with you,” he tries to protest, but by the sound of Hizumi’s chuckles, he knows he failed.

“Keeping the truth is no different than lying.” Hizumi reasons.

He sighs, nods, pulls away a little so that he can look into the vocalist’s eyes.

“What have you been keeping from me?” he asks.

The older man laughs quietly, and he feels his muscles loosen at the sound. He’s safe. He knows he’s safe.

“No,” Hizumi says, “I already told you mine.”

“Well, I don’t have anything quite so profound as dedicating a song to you--”

“I didn’t just dedicate it to you, Tsukasa. I wrote it about you.”

“My point exactly!”

“Not all of us can be lyricists.”

“Or sappy teenage girls.”

“Yeah,” Hizumi says, a smirk teasing at the edge of his lips, “I think you’ve got that pretty much covered for us.”

He hopes the sound that Hizumi makes when his hand snaps against the vocalist’s bare arm means that he causes a lot of intense pain.

“I like you a lot better when you’re not talking.”

Hizumi laughs again, pulling Tsukasa’s head back by his hair. The vocalist’s lips brush against his when he says, “See, you can be profound.”

-o-

 

Dallas is a big city, but then, Texas is a big State. It honestly frightens Tsukasa a bit, how small he feels around the people here, how minute Japan seems in comparison overall. And the enthusiasm at Nokia is fit to burst through the very walls, shatter glass and crack the concrete floors.

He stands backstage right, watches as the scary, bloodied Bullet fans fall back only to be replaced--pushed past, shoved out of the way--by eager Atreyu kids, who seem even more scary in a way that Tsukasa isn’t quite able to put his finger on, but that he figures has something to do with the fact that they, too, are bloody when they shouldn’t be… yet.

“They’re fucking brutal.”

His head snaps around, recognizing the voice. Taka stands beside him, all sinewy muscles and jutting hipbones, with his arms crossed over his chest. He reminds Tsukasa of Karyu in that way, but the similarities end there. Taka is quiet, subdued energy--the type needed to be a good vocalist, a good frontman--where Karyu is all crazed eyes and flailing limbs.

Taka is easily the more tolerable of the two, even though he isn’t in Tsukasa’s band.

“Our fans back home, they’re not… they lack that, you know?” Taka says, waving one arm out toward the crowd. “I’m not saying I don’t love them, but… it’s been a nice change of pace here.”

He nods, turning back to watch as the members of Atreyu take their places on the stage.

“Hey, uhm,” Taka says, having to shout over Alex Varkatzas’s voice filtering through the microphone and out the large speakers surrounding them, “I think Hizumi was looking for you back in the dressing rooms.”

“Oh, okay…”

He doesn’t really need to watch Atreyu’s set again, he’s seen it plenty of times over the past month and a half. He should probably just give up on it ever really exciting him beyond the point of giving him chills the way any kind of live music does. So he turns and stumbles back through the door to the hall that houses all the dressing rooms, stumbling over his own feet because his legs still feel like jelly, but the electrical impulses in his muscles have yet to stop firing periodically, making him twitch.

Their room is at the end of the hall on the right, but he only makes it a few feet from the stage entrance before hands are snagging the front of his t-shirt and jerking him into a room in the front. His back hits the door painfully, his head smacking off the wood with a loud crack and, okay. Ow.

“What the mother-fucking fuck!?” He pries his lids apart, but his vision is blurred by the tears welling in his eyes. He brings his hands up in front of him to push at his attacker’s chest, but his wrists are caught midair.

Someone’s hand is cupping the back of his head, keeping it from hitting the door again.

“Shh, stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself again.” The voice is soothing and familiar, and when he blinks away the tears, he recognizes the laughter behind the honey eyes.

“What the hell, Karyu?” He yells, still struggling against the guitarist’s grip but only out of reflex. “I could have killed you.”

The taller man looks pointedly at his hands, wrists bound together by his own freakishly long fingers. “Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m stronger than you when I want to be,” he reminds the other flatly.

“But you don’t want to be.”

He sighs, all fight abruptly escaping his body, until his arms are limp between the two of them, his body slouching against the door.

“What do you want, Karyu?” he asks, resigned.

Karyu doesn’t answer him verbally, but when the guitarist’s lips press insistently against his own, the message is pretty clear.

-o-

He’s washing the remnants of his encounter with Karyu off his skin--water so hot it burns the spots on his arms he’s nearly scrubbed raw with his fingernails--when Hizumi pulls the curtain back and climbs in behind him.

“Jesus!” He practically screams, but the vocalist is pulling him back against his chest and nipping at his neck.

“Hmm, not quite.”

He chuckles a little, but the sound is wet, uncertain. “Cocky bastard."

He hisses when Hizumi reaches around him to palm his cock, presses an open mouthed kiss to the hollow below his ear. “What was that again, Tsuka-chan?”

The words were teasing, much like the nails scraping lightly down his side.

Were he able to think clear, separate, cohesive thoughts, he may have lingered on the fact that this is the first time Hizumi has ever touched him like this, the perfection of it, the familiarity to their actions.

Now, he can only question why, for anything that was good on this earth, had they not done this before?

And he feels like a filthy slut, but he’s too far gone to care.

-o-

He really isn’t sure, but somehow Zero managed to talk him into sharing a room with Karyu that night. He vaguely remembers something about seven in the morning and talk about lyrics and art and shit and it was way too fucking early to be talking about anything really, so he just agreed and rolled over and went back to sleep.

Only, Hizumi and Zero aren’t holed up in their fucking rooms talking about lyrics and art and shit. Zero’s doing lord knows what with fuck knows who. Hizumi is off to the indoor pool, he’s sure, because the vocalist passed by their room only two seconds ago and asked, “Are you guys fucking coming?!”

“You’re so juvenile.” Tsukasa says, kicking a leg over the side of the bed, aiming vaguely at Karyu’s head but missing because of the odd angle.

The guitarist laughs, pausing the video game he’s been working studiously to beat--failing miserably, because Karyu and video games are not the best of combinations--for the last four hours, and turning around to look at him, all eyebrows and smirking lips. “That’s rich coming from you, don’t you think?”

“Fuck you,” is all he comes up with in response.

Karyu is up on the bed before Tsukasa can even blink, leaning over the drummer, running a hand up the inside of his thigh and mouthing the skin stretch over a protruding collarbone--Tsukasa borrowed one of Hizumi’s ridiculous v-neck tees because the vocalist spilled chocolate milk all down the front of his shirt that morning. He arches unconsciously into the taller man.

“You couldn’t handle me, baby.” The guitarist says and Tsukasa would really like to know where Karyu learned how to use that tone of voice, because god knows it does nothing to help stave off the violent shudder that threatens to rip down Tsukasa’s entire fucking body.

“You think so?” he says, because he’ll be damned if he lets Karyu win this fight. He can be just as seductive and—

Okay, yeah, maybe he didn’t bank of Karyu doing that with his mouth.

He nearly moans, eyelids fluttering wildly, and the guitarist only chuckles and sucks harder at the spot on his neck.

Then Karyu pulling away too quickly. Tsukasa wants to reach out and beg for him not to go. But he doesn’t.

“I know so, gorgeous,” Karyu says, making the words sound both like an endearment and an insult, “You couldn’t top if the lives of your future children depended on it.”

And Karyu is turning around again, sliding off the bed, grabbing the PS3 controller and immersing himself back into his game as effortlessly as if he wasn’t just practically molesting his bandmate on the bed two seconds ago.

And Tsukasa tries very hard not to acknowledge the fact that he’s hard as a fucking rock.

Fuck.

-o-

In the end, it’s Zero who puts a stop to the madness. It’s so obvious, it almost makes Tsukasa gag. The whole plan reeks of demanding bandleader, thoughtful bassist, just… Zero. But it isn’t Zero who presents the idea to him the afternoon they’re sitting outside their venue in Sacramento. No, it’s Karyu and Hizumi who walk on the bus together, stopping in front of him and flashing identical mischievous smirks.

It’s Karyu who speaks first. “So, I want to fuck you against the wall of an expensive hotel.”

“What?” he squeaks, because, honestly. A little warning, Karyu?

Karyu winces, but it’s only for show. “Expensive hotel room,” he amends.

“Where are you going with this?”

He doesn’t look at Hizumi, can’t look at Hizumi, doesn’t want to know the vocalist’s involvement with this nonsense.

“I thought that was pretty clear?” Karyu asks, and if Tsukasa didn’t know him so well, he would swear the guitarist is actually confused.

Hizumi speaks, "How do you feel about--"

"--fucking both of us, at the same time" the guitarist finishes.

“Fuck you,” he says, standing up front from the bench, ignoring the thudding of his heart against his ears. “Both of you. And you’re stupid fucking games.”

He moves to leave. He just needs to get out before he does something he’s going to regret, like throw something heavy at Hizumi or stabbing Karyu with his fucking pencil--well, probably he wouldn’t regret the latter.

But before he can make it to the stairs that lead outside, someone’s hand is wrapping around his arm, pulling him back against a strong chest, preventing his escape.

“It’s not a game, okay?” Hizumi’s voice sends shivers down his spine as it floats across his ear. “I’m sorry. We probably should have gone about that a different way.”

"What other way can you go about it, Hizumi?"

He feels Hizumi sigh against his back. Closing his eyes for a moment, he turns back around, pulling his arm from the vocalist’s hand, but not moving away.

He fixes Hizumi with what he hopes is a inquiring gaze.

“You’re serious?”

“Would I lie to you about sex?” Karyu says before Hizumi can answer. He just glares at the guitarist, decides not to grace those words with a response.

Hizumi’s lips are turned up in a small smile. “Would I lie to you… ever?”

His eyes narrow incredulously. “This was Zero’s idea, wasn’t it?”

Karyu stumbles forward. “Fuck! How’d you know?”

He laughs quietly, “Because he’s the only one not here--”

“Told you we should have made him come with us.” Karyu says, smacking Hizumi on the arm lightly.

“--and the two of you are no where near smart enough to come up with something like that on your own.”

“HEY!”

 

-o-

 

For all the time he spends lecturing Karyu and Hizumi about breaking rules and being overall pains in his ass, Zero is probably the one who has the least regard for authority out of the four of them. It has nothing to do with any sort of mischievous streak or even a love for getting himself into trouble, but simply because he thinks he is above the rules, and anyone who questions that is obviously delusional, and please, allow him to clear up any misunderstanding.

It’s for this very reason that it takes Tsukasa all of ninety-fucking-minutes to find the rogue bassist squatting in front of his drum set on stage.

“You’re not supposed to be here, you know.” He says, leaning against one of the oversized amplifiers at the back of the stage. Zero doesn’t even look up from the instrument settled in his lap, plucking a few strings and wincing at the sound.

“Neither are you,” the bassist counters after he adjusts the strings until they sound somewhat in tune.

“Yeah, well, I have a reason.”

“So do I. Did you expect the techs to get your cymbals right tonight? Or were you just hoping to get lucky?”

Tsukasa’s retort gets stuck in his throat and it takes all he’s got not to shudder at the memory of their last show, when one of his cymbal’s screws had been too tight and he noticed half-way through their first song.

It wasn’t a huge deal, except that he had to rearrange the whole song to fit around the mistake before he could reach up and fix the problem. Zero noticed, and the incident put the bassist in a foul mood through their whole set, despite Tsukasa reassuring the younger man that it was fine.

The fact that Zero decided to take the matter of checking their equipment into his own hands, is not overly surprising. The fact that Zero seems to think he hasn’t come to the stage to do that same thing is… well, not overly surprising.

“I talked to Hizumi and Karyu.”

That statement seems to catch the bassist's attention.

"Yeah?"

He nods, his mouth set in a firm line and he hopes he at least looks less conflicted than he feels. If Zero's knowing smirk and raised eyebrow are anything to go by, he's no where near successful. He kind of wants to hit the other man.

"And what did you talk to Hizumi and Karyu about, Tsuka-chan?" Zero's voice is laced with condescending laughter, just under the surface, waiting for him to say something to warrant its presence.

He crosses his arms over his chest, forcing his own eyes to narrow in what he wishes to appear as a challenge. He doesn't have much faith in his abilities, though.

"You know what I talked to them about, Zero-chan." He says, biting at the inside of his lip for a moment before continuing. "It was you that put them up to it, wasn't it?"

The thing about Zero--and really, this information would have been so valuable the first few years he'd known the other man--is that he is very, very accustomed to getting his way, having his authority respected and obeyed. It doesn't take much more than a subtle raise in Tsukasa's aggression to force the bassist to retaliate, if only because Tsukasa is hardly ever aggressive.

The other thing about Zero? He's a sneaky little shit and can see right through Tsukasa.

The bassist laughs softly, shaking his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Well, Tsukasa should have known this was going to be more difficult than it had to be. Thanks a whole fucking bunch, Zero.

"Yeah?" he says, "Well, let me just say that I don't appreciate you sicking your fucking boyfriend on me when you think I need some kind of pity fuck. Because I've got news for you. I fucking don't."

Zero at least has the decency to appear a little concerned now. "You kind of suck at this game, you know?"

"Shut up."

"So, you don't need a "pity fuck" and you felt the need to come tell me this?"

"Obviously."

"Because you needed me to know you absolutely are not insecure in that decision and this has nothing to do with the fact that having sex with my boyfriend scares the shit out of you and you don't know how to admit it to yourself?"

"...Obviously."

"Hm." Zero goes back to the instrument in his hands. "Then have you gotten what you came here for?"

Tsukasa opens his mouth to respond but finds he has absolutely nothing to say to that. "I--I don't know. I kind of lost you at the insecurity bit."

Even with his face turned down, Tsukasa knows Zero is smiling knowingly again. "Yeah, I figured."

Tsukasa sighs heavily, letting his arms fall back down to his sides, his body to lean against the amp beside him. He watches Zero place the bass back in its stand before climbing to his feet.

"So," the bassist says, "Want to tell me what you really came to talk to me about?"

He grimaces. "Not really..."

"Does it have to do with Karyu? Or Hizumi?"

"Karyu."

"About you and Karyu? Or Me and Karyu?"

"...both?"

Zero nods. "Are you afraid I'll be... angry or something if you do take him up on his offer?"

"Would you?"

"I think it would be pretty hypocritical of me to be angry with someone for doing what I tell them to do."

"But not entirely incomprehensible."

"Tsukasa." Zero moves closer, and when he stops, Tsukasa can feel where their arms brush against each other a little. He tries to ignore the shiver it causes. "I didn't tell Karyu to go to you because I think you need a pity fuck. I told him because you want him, and he wants you. And as much of a selfish bastard as I can be sometimes, I like to give the people I care about what they want."

He smiles, a small upward curve at the corners of his lips, but he hopes it shows his gratitude.

"That's not all, is it?" Zero asks.

"...No."

"Then what else could possibly keeping you from having amazing sex with two of your best friends?"

"You."

"Tsuka, I just said--"

"No." Tsukasa turns a little so he can see the other man better. "Not... I'm not talking about that anymore. It's just... I mean... the three of us would be fucking but... there are four of us in this band."

Zero's eyes narrow. "Is that an invitation?"

"If you want it to be."

"You're being awfully forward. What did you do with the real Tsukasa?"

Laughter bubbles in his chest. He shrugs. "I guess I'm just sick of waiting for other people to give me what I want."

"And it took you, what, twenty-five years to get to this point? Impressive."

Tsukasa bites his lip. "So...?"

Zero smiles and leans in closer.

-o-

It seems his sudden burst of confidence was a short-lived luxury. He's standing in the elevator between Hizumi and Zero, counting off the numbers as they climb higher and higher, and he can't stop fucking shaking. Granted, they did just put on the best show they've had in the US since they've gotten here and it was pretty much a guarantee that his muscles would spasm for a whole three hours afterward anyway. Still, it doesn't stop the urge to glare at Karyu every time the guitarist catches his gaze with a raised eyebrow and that ever-present smirk, or at Zero for whispering in his fucking ear--because the bassist is evil and knows it drives him insane.

Or, you know, at Hizumi, for smelling so fucking good and standing right there with his hand sliding up Tsukasa's shirt to scratch at the indentations of his spine.

Clearly, he was never meant to have any self-control.

He's maybe-kind of-definitely okay with that so long as Hizumi's arms are there to hold him up when his knees turn to jelly when Zero decides to tug at his earring with his teeth.

Seriously, making Zero bandleader was the best fucking decision any of them have ever made.

Second only to... well... this.

The doors open without so much as a beep telling them they've made it to their floor and Tsukasa's has a second to think that, wow, this is kind of a shitty hotel before Hizumi is wrapping strong fingers around his wrist and tugging him into the hall. He all but stumbles after the vocalist to their room.

"We'll be right there," Karyu whispers in his ear as Hizumi slides his keycard through the lock and pushes the door open.

"Where--" he starts but Karyu is already turning and he's being pulled into his room behind Hizumi. The door closes behind him and the click of the lock's obtrusive, too loud.

"Where are--"

"I just asked them to give us a little time," Hizumi answers before he can finish his question. The vocalist turns to him, forcing him back against the door.

Their foreheads touch and he asks, "time to do what?"

"To talk."

"About?"

"If you're sure you want to do this."

He tries to pull away, tugs until Hizumi's hand lets go of his wrist. "Jesus, why is all the uncertainty blamed on me?"

"Because you're the only one who's been uncertain about this."

He glares. "Says the man who took four fucking years to tell me he wrote a fucking love song about me."

Hizumi shrugs. "I never had any doubts about whether or not I wanted to fuck you... or the rest of our band, for that matter."

Tsukasa sighs, and he hopes his eyes are telling Hizumi exactly what he thinks about that statement. "I want to do this. I wouldn't have agreed to it if I wasn't sure."

Hizumi does not seem convinced.

"Don't you think this should have been something you asked about before the three of you crowded me in an elevator and started gnawing at my neck?"

That at least got Hizumi smiling. He leans forward and captures the vocalist’s lips with his own. He gasps when Hizumi’s tongue traces the seam of his lips. Hands slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up. They have to break away so Hizumi can pull the shirt over his head and toss it to the ground. The hands are back before Tsukasa can even tell that they’re gone.

He arches off the door, his chest pressing against Hizumi’s, and the vocalist stumbles backwards, further into the room. It’s cold. He can hear the air conditioner in the corner, but it’s a faint distraction from the flush of his skin, the rush of blood in his ears. He digs his nails into Hizumi’s shoulders, trying to keep himself from falling. His legs feel like rubber.

“You’re shaking,” Hizumi says when they pull away again, almost like he’s surprised.

“I’m fine.”

“Tsukasa—”

“I’m fine.”

He kisses Hizumi again, if only to shut the older man up. He wants this. God, he wants this. Hizumi is not going to convince him otherwise.

He’s startled out of his thoughts when he feels another pair of hands at his hips, breath tickling the back of his neck. He jumps, almost twists around, but Hizumi’s hands keep him in place. He lets his head fall back against the shoulder behind him.

“A little warning next time, asshole,” he says and Karyu just chuckles.

“We told you we’d be back soon. When Hizumi didn’t call to say the whole thing was off, we figured it was safe to come join you.”

His eyes dart around the room; he sees Zero leaning against one of the dressers looking vaguely pleased with himself.

“Don’t let me stop you,” the bassist said, “I think Hizumi has waited long enough for this.”

“Seven fucking years too long.” The words are whispered into his neck and he arches again. Someone’s hands—Karyu’s judging by the angle and size—wrap around his wrists, pulling his arms up over his head until he hooks his elbows around Karyu’s neck. He makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds regrettably like a whimper to his own ears and he feels Karyu’s laughter against his back.

“Such a fucking slut for it,” Karyu whispers, low enough to assure him he’s the only one to hear it. He gasps again, closes his eyes against the sparks in his vision as Hizumi bites at his collarbone.

He fists his hands in the back of Karyu’s t-shirt, tugs at it with all the strength his position will allow. The guitarist seems to get the message though. Karyu presses a kiss to the side of his neck and says, “I think Tsuka wants everyone to be a little more naked.”

Yes, that is exactly what Tsukasa wants. God, Karyu is good at this.

Hizumi is too busy mouthing Tsukasa’s jaw to respond verbally, but the vocalist steps back a moment later and tugs his shirt over his head. His lips are red and kiss-swollen and his hair is already sticking up in odd directions and Tsukasa mostly just wants to kiss him forever.

“Better?”

He doesn’t know what makes him say it, but the words are out of his mouth before he can reign them in. “Ask me again when your jeans are around your ankles.”

Karyu laughs again and he doesn’t have to look to see Zero’s smirk. Hizumi raises an eyebrow and looks at him incredulously. He’s not the powerful one in their little arrangement. He doesn’t make the orders.

But Hizumi’s fingers are already at his belt buckle, sliding the leather out of its clasp and starting on the button of the his jeans and the thrill of the power makes Tsukasa’s head swimmy. He watches, his arms still wrapped up and around Karyu’s neck for support, as Hizumi fits his thumbs under the waistband and pushes his jeans down his legs until they are pooled on the floor at his feet. Hizumi steps out of them and back toward Tsukasa.

“Better?” he asks again, and any semblance of dominance Tsukasa thought he might have had disappeared. All Tsukasa can do is swallow and nod, close his eyes and breathe Hizumi in.

Four hands, all holding different places on his body. Lips everywhere. He hears Karyu’s soft whispers in his ear but can register none of the words. He sees nothing but the black behind his eyelids.

They undress him completely, strip him down and he can’t open his eyes, can’t look at them while they watch each part of his body be exposed. He’s not particularly shy when it comes to his body, but this is different than changing backstage before a live.

His legs tremble and threaten to give out. Karyu and Hizumi work together to maneuver him to the bed. He doesn’t know if he likes them taking care of him so much, doesn’t know if he likes going back and forth like this. One minute he gets the courage to say something deliberately teasing and maybe a little malicious and the next he’s relying on them to walk. It’s a confusing paradox of emotion and he can’t stop questioning each of his own actions.

“Stop thinking,” Hizumi says as the vocalist lies beside him on the bed, a hand pressed against his chest to ground him. “Just let yourself feel for awhile.”

He knows what’s coming, but is still caught a little off guard when Hizumi’s lips are back on his. Hizumi kisses like he doesn’t believe Tsukasa is really there, like he’s afraid if they break contact for any length of time Tsuaksa will disappear. Tsukasa tries to give him reassurance, slides his fingers through the vocalist’s hair and wraps a leg around Hizumi’s waist.

Hizumi takes the hint and grabs a hold of his hips, grinds down against him.

“Fuck…” The word is so close to his thoughts it takes him a second to realize it hadn’t come from his own mouth.

He breaks his kiss with Hizumi to look over the vocalist’s shoulder and what he sees makes him utter the same curse under his breath.

Zero has Karyu pinned up against the wall, nails and teeth scraping against the bare skin of the guitarist’s chest. Karyu’s hands are fisted in Zero’s hair and his head is thrown back, exposing his throat. His eyes are still open and his gaze locks with Tsukasa’s across the room. Tsukasa feels himself shiver under Hizumi.

“Stop,” he says, quietly. Hizumi’s hands still at his sides and the vocalist looks down at him questioningly. He watches Karyu still.

“What,” Hizumi asks, rubbing circles into his skin, but the older man’s tone is worried, panicked almost, “Tsuka, what—”

“Karyu…”

The guitarist smirks and Zero ceases all movement. It seems to take forever for the bassist to stand upright again and for Karyu to push himself off the wall.

“What do you want?” The guitarist asks as he comes to stand next to the bed. Tsukasa pushes gently at Hizumi’s chest until the vocalist rises up again. Tsukasa doesn’t know how to answer Karyu’s question, so he just lifts himself up onto his knees and crawls over to the edge of the bed. He doesn’t know how to answer Karyu’s question so he just leans forward until his nose brushes against Karyu’s skin, just above the waistband of the guitarist’s jeans.

He feels more than hears the other man’s sharp intake of breath, and his eyes flutter closed when he feels Karyu’s hand settle on top of his head, scratching at his neck encouragingly. He lifts a hand to unbutton Karyu’s jeans; the teeth of the zipper come apart loudly. The guitarist smells good this close up, sweat from the show, cologne and smoke, dirt from sound equipment and instruments.

He dips his head, mouths at Karyu’s cock through the thin layer of cotton under the jeans. He thinks about pushing the denim down the other man’s legs a little, but he likes it this way, likes the almost-secrecy of it.

Karyu breathes heavily through his nose, loud and telling. Tsukasa feels proud of himself suddenly. He tugs at the guitarist’s underwear until he can pull Karyu’s cock out, hard and hot in his hand. He pumps it once, twice, before fitting the head into his mouth, sliding his tongue along the underside.

Karyu fucking keens and Tsukasa closes his eyes.

It’s tangy-salty and familiar, though it’s been awhile since he’s last done this. The corners of his lips hurt a little where the skin is stretched and it’s a little hard to breathe. Karyu is holding very still, fingers gripping Tsukasa’s hair to keep himself from thrusting in hard. Tsukasa takes him in a little bit deeper.

Hands on his skin again, Hizumi leaning over him to whisper in his ear. “Tsuka…”

The vocalist trails fingertips along his spine, their journey slick from the sweat on his back. Hizumi presses a kiss to the side of his neck and he shivers again.

“Fuck him, Hizumi.” He jumps slightly at the sound of Zero’s voice so close. Slender fingers fit under his chin and lift his head a little, forcing Karyu’s cock deeper into his mouth. He opens his eyes and stares up into the bassist’s. Zero smirks and continues speaking, rubbing at some saliva that escaped the side of Tsukasa’s mouth. “He can take both of you.”

He moans at the words, the vibrations in his throat causing Karyu to echo it back at him. The fingers in his hair tighten and Karyu shoves in for a brief moment before pulling back. Tsukasa tries not to choke. Karyu doesn’t apologize.

Hizumi breathes hot and heavy against his shoulder for a moment before he’s gone again, climbing off the bed. Tsukasa hears the vocalist moving around the room, hears a zipper and the sifting through items in a bag. His skin itches with his anticipation, his limbs trembling. Zero is still cupping his jaw, but he can hear him whispering to Karyu. Whatever the bassist says, Karyu seems to agree.

Hizumi is back again, and as soon as Tsukasa can feel the older man press up along his back, there are fingers sliding against his entrance. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and tries to press back against them. When the first pushes in, it’s slick and cold and he moans.

Zero lifts his chin again, pushes his head back so only the head of Karyu’s cock is left in his mouth. The look the bassist gives him is pointed and challenging. He doesn’t move. His obedience seems to please Zero.

The bassist whispers something to Karyu again and the guitarist’s eyes—closed since the first touch of Tsukasa’s lips to his cock—open and shoot down to lock with Tsukasa’s. They’re dark, pupils blown, hazy with lust.

Tuskasa doesn’t have time to process what the look Karyu is giving him could mean, his thoughts are drawn back to Hizumi as the vocalist pushes his cock past the constricting ring of muscles. Tsukasa’s vision blurs and his mouth opens wide.

He feels a burn in his throat when Karyu thrusts back into his mouth. Tsukasa tips his head up again and he can hear the guitarist moan quietly.

“God, Tsukasa,” Hizumi whispers into the back of his neck, pushing in deep, until Tsukasa can feel Hizumi’s hips against his ass. His eyes roll and flutter closed and when Karyu follows Hizumi’s example and thrusts until the head of his cock touches the back of Tsukasa’s throat it’s even harder to breathe.

The two work out a rhythm almost instantly, fucking him hard and mercilessly. It’s quick and Karyu is speaking but he can hear nothing over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears, his pulse against the inside of his skull. He thinks he might be moaning, can feel the vibrations in his chest, but that could be from the convulsions that wrack his whole body. Hizumi’s hips are angled just right and the vocalist hits his prostate with every thrust.

He knows Karyu is close before the guitarist even realizes. The other man’s release seems to come as a violent surprise, the hand in Tsukasa’s hair tightening painfully and Karyu moans loudly above him. His mouth is suddenly filled with the taste of come and something distinctly Karyu. Tsukasa moans too, feels slightly abused, but he’d forgotten how much he loves this. Hizumi thrusts in deep and bites at his shoulder. Wet heat is all Tsukasa can physically feel for a moment.

Karyu is gone first, pulling out of his mouth and kneeling on the floor in front of him. The guitarist cups his jaw, much the same way Zero was doing earlier, but this time the touch is gentle, coaxing. Karyu looks at him with a mixture of amusement and amazement, before leaning forward and kissing him softly. It’s a stark contrast to the force the guitarist was using before, but a welcome one. He instantly parts his lips for Karyu, sucks the other man’s tongue into his mouth.

Hizumi’s hands run up and down his sides, lightly, as if trying to calm him. But he’s still so hard it’s physically painful, and he’s shaking so bad it’s a wonder his arms can hold him up. He whimpers into Karyu’s mouth when Hizumi pulls out, feeling suddenly empty and helpless. The guitarist hums reassurance and Hizumi scratches light at his skin.

And then, nothing. They’re moving away from him, and he wants to sob, wants to beg for them to stay. To give him anything, please.

“My turn.”

His body tenses at the sound of Zero’s voice and a small, clipped moan excapes his throat. He looks up at where the bassist is standing above him now, at the small smirk on the perfect bow of Zero’s lips, and shudders.

“Zero—”

“Lie back, Tsukasa,” the bassist says, eyes flicking up to the headboard, “Hizumi, help him.”

The hands on his hips are insistent and pull him backwards. There are lips at his ear and a solid chest against his back. “Come on, Tsuka-chan.”

He lets himself be led back until he’s lying between Hizumi’s spread legs. Karyu is lying next to them on his side. The guitarist pulls him in from another kiss, fitting a large hand around the back of his neck. When the guitarist pulls away again, he’s smiling.

“I like it when you taste like me.”

Tsukasa laughs nervously and presses their foreheads together. Karyu’s hair sticks to his skin with sweat.

He feels hizumi’s hands slide down his legs until they’re hooked around the back of his knees. They coax his legs apart while Hizumi nips at his ear and breathes admirations into the skin of his shoulders. Tsukasa kisses Karyu again and reaches an arm up and back around Hizumi’s neck, just wanting to keep the two of them close. He doesn’t even flinch at the first touch of Zero’s hands over his abdomen.

The bassist places a soft kiss just under his navel and his hips jerk forward, seeking friction and heart wherever it’s offered. He hears Zero chuckle to himself and whines into Karyu’s mouth. With the hand not occupied in Hizumi’s hair, he reaches down to grab at Zero’s shoulder, digging his nails into the other man’s flesh to show his impatience.

Zero doesn’t seem to notice though, and the bassist slides up his body until their hips are aligned. It’s all heat and solid flesh and Tsukasa can feel his rip on reality loosening. Nothing exists beyond this hotel room; nothing, save these three men and their focus on him.

A nip to his jaw forces his attention to the bassist between his legs and he tears his lips away from Karyu’s to turn to look at the other man. Zero reaches up and closes his fingers around Tsukasa’s in Hizumi’s hair. It’s both intimate and strikingly arousing to have the bassist’s strong grip wrap around his hand, and he lets Zero pull his hand back down until the bassist’s lips are pressed to the inside of his wrist.

Zero sucks hard at the sensitive skin and Tsukasa gasps, rocks his hips forward and lets his head fall back against Hizumi’s shoulder.

“So beautiful,” Hizumi says and he shakes his head. He’s not the beautiful one here, nowhere close.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t know who says it, just that their tone is so insistent it’s impossible not to believe it.

When the bassist pulls his lips away from Tsukasa’s wrist, the drummer doesn’t look down, but knows that there would already be a purple bruise forming there. A mark to remind him of tonight, he supposes. Zero’s hands join Hizumi’s on Tsukasa’s hips, pulling him down just enough that the head of Zero’s cock is pressing against his entrance.

And he’s so far gone already, needs only a little more to get him off. Suddenly, he needs Zero inside him, needs that like he needs Hizumi’s lips on his neck, like he needs Karyu’s thumb stroking his side and whispering in his ear.

Zero doesn’t disappoint him.

It’s not even a stretch really, Zero is smaller than Hizumi, though not by much, and Tsukasa is already well prepared. The bassist’s cock slides into him with little effort and he feels full again. In his position, he has no control over the rhythm, but Zero is merciful and seems just as eager for release as he is. It’s slower this time. He can feel every drag of Zero’s cock inside him. Their skin is slick with sweat and he’s so hot, trapped between the three of them.

He can’t stifle the cry that escapes his throat when Karyu’s hand wraps around his cock, pumping in time to Zero’s thrusts. He feels like a spring coiled to tight, just waiting for the tension to break so he can snap back into his original shape. His breathing is harsh and heavy and his heart pounds against the inside of his ribs. He’s hyperaware of Hizumi’s teeth biting at his earlobe and the fingers that have twined between his own, holding fast until he finally gives out.

It takes one swipe of the slit in the head of his cock by Karyu’s thumb to send him over the edge. He sees nothing but white behind his eyelids as the pressure explodes, seeming to rip him apart at the seams. He moans again, only vaguely registers Zero’s hiss in his ear as he clenches around the bassist, and suddenly Zero is pulling out.

He opens his eyes just in time to see the bassist fisting his cock, Zero’s come mixing with his own on his stomach. It creates ribbons of white across his muscles, but he’s too exhausted to feel dirty.

The bassist all but collapses on top of him afterward. He waits for his breathing to slow somewhat before prying his hands out of Hizumi’s and wrapping his arms around Zero’s shoulders, holding him close. One of Karyu’s arms joins his and he smiles.

Hizumi is still solid at his back.

-o-

He wakes up to only Hizumi in bed with him. The sun is shining in through the windows because they forgot to close the curtains the night before, but for the first time in what feels like forever, Tsukasa doesn’t mind being up early.

His body, however, minds just a little too much.

“Sore?” Hizumi asks when he winces at the pain in his shoulders. The vocalist is stretched out beside him, an arm thrown over his waist and a knee pressed between his legs.

He laughs softly. “It’s been awhile.”

Hizumi smiles and moves his hand to cup the back of Tsukasa’s neck. They stay like that for a moment, silent, just looking at each other. Tsukasa can remember a time when he would wake up before Hizumi and stare at the vocalist for hours, just watching the older man sleep, pretending they were more than what they were.

Now that they are more, it seems surreal and what he’s seeing is out of focus.

“Where’s Zero and Karyu,” he asks for lack of better conversation.

“They went back to their room,” Hizumi explains, “Zero thought you might need some time to yourself. To rest. To think.”

He wants to roll his eyes but it seems like too much effort to be annoyed. “Think about what?”

Hizumi’s brow furrows and the vocalist looks down between them. “I don’t know. This, I guess. Us.”

“What about us.”

“If you still want this. If being with just me is going to be enough for you.”

It’s the first time since coming to America that Hizumi has shown this kind of vulnerability and Tsukasa doesn’t think he’s ready to deal with it yet. Hizumi still needs him. He sees that now. Is reassured finally that he isn’t moving backward while the vocalist is jumping ahead of him, almost out of reach.

He smiles and scoots closer to the other man until he can place a soft kiss to Hizumi’s forehead. The vocalist looks up, slight confusion in dark eyes.

“You make it sound like I would be settling or something.”

Hizumi laughs. “So, you mean you don’t need crazy orgies with your bandmates to finally be satisfied.”

“…Last night was nice.”

“It doesn’t have to stop,” Hizumi says, “I mean, Zero and Karyu are pretty serious and we… well, yeah, we have to work out our details still… but I know Karyu had fun.”

“Karyu has fun with anything remotely related to sex.”

“True.”

He laughs, feels loose and sated and content. He slides down until he can fit his head beneath Hizumi’s chin and wraps an arm around the vocalist’s waist. He smells cigarettes and sex and it should be disgusting, but he’s too comfortable to mention it.

“I disagree with you, by the way,” he says after a moment’s silence.

“Oh, yeah?” Hizumi’s hand cards through his hair. “About what?”

He smiles and closes his eyes again. “This place hasn’t been bad for me at all.”

He’s sad that this is their last day in America. The thought of going home scares him, even more so the thought of going back to his life, to the people that know him. Will they know that something has changed? Should he even care that they know?

He thinks Hizumi might laugh at his statement.

He's too busy counting the steady heartbeats against his ear to know.


End file.
